What Would You Rather Do?
by hippy.intellect
Summary: Mark and Roger have some very random conversations that will either explain the meaning of life or leave the reader traumatized forever. Take your pick. UPDATED! Chapter two: Roger gets some mints.
1. Making a decision

This story is based on actual events. For the safety of those involved, names, appearances, ages, genders, locations, time periods and events were all changed to fit Jonathan Larson's characters, which I do not own, blah blah blah, don't try this at home, drink responsibly, be nice to your sister.

What Would You Rather Do?

'Hey, Roger?'

'Yeah?'

'I need your opinion on something, and it's of utmost importance that you answer me honestly.'

Roger looked up from his newspaper and glanced at his friend suspiciously. 'Okay…'

'Alright,' Mark took a deep breath. 'What would you rather do… be buried alive in an ancient tomb, or be eaten alive by a plant?'

'What!'

'Just answer!'

'Why?' Roger demanded. 'Is someone making you choose between being buried alive and being eaten, Mark, because if they are, you should just tell them-'

'No, Roger!' Mark assured him. 'C'mon, it's just a game. Answer. A, buried alive, or B, eaten by a plant?'

'Fine. I choose C.'

'You can't choose C,' Mark groaned.

'Why not?'

'Because there _is _no C!'

'Well, I made a C up!' Roger insisted.

'Fine,' Mark gave in. 'What's C then?'

'Um… I hadn't thought of that yet.'

'So you didn't make a C up!'

'Fine, fine,' Roger thought furiously. 'C is… I get a car dropped on me.'

Mark pondered this. 'I guess that's fair.'

'But,' Roger continued. 'I get to choose what kind of car.'

'No way!' argued Mark. 'Then you could choose a little toy car or something.'

_He read my mind, _Roger thought angrily. 'Well, how would this plant eat me? Plants don't have digestive systems!'

'This one does,' Mark answered promptly. 'It's from outer space.'

'Where'd you get this space plant?'

'Uh… eclipse of the sun,' Mark said decisively.

Roger considered this. 'Okay, space plant… now about this tomb... would I be able to breath?'

'Nope. You're buried six feet underground. You'd run out of air.'

'Can I _at least _have a tank of air?'

Mark sighed. 'Fine. You can have a tank of air.'

'Alright. I choose tomb!'

'Really? You'd rather starve to death in a tomb than quickly die in the mouth of a plant?'

'Who says I'd starve?' said Roger mysteriously.

'Well, you don't have any food.'

'That's what you think. I'd sneak some in, just like I do at the movie theater. Stupid overpriced popcorn…'

'NO SNEAKING FOOD IN!'

Roger started to get upset. 'This is no fair! I didn't do anything to deserve being killed, and yet you're making me choose between being eaten by an alien plant who came down to Earth at the eclipse of a sun- which by the way, doesn't make _any _sense- and being buried alive in a tomb with nothing but a tank of air? This is the stupidest game I've ever played!' he ranted. 'And furthermore…' he trailed off, seeing Mark's eyes slowly fill with water.

'Mark… don't cry,' he said, as Mark began to sniff. 'Please?'

'I just wanted to play a game!' sobbed Mark, running out of the loft.

Roger stared after him, confused beyond his wildest dreams. He stayed like that for several minutes, before the loft door opened again to reveal Collins with an armful of groceries.

'Hey, man,' the professor said. 'What's up with Mark? I saw him running down the street, crying his eyes out.'

Roger just sighed. 'It's nothing, Collins, really.'

'Whatever you say,' Collins replied and began putting the food away.

'Hey, Collins?' Roger said suddenly.

'Yeah?'

'I need your opinion on something, and it's of utmost importance that you answer me honestly. What would you rather do…?'

FIN!


	2. Chugging mints

This chapter really doesn't have much to do with the last chapter, but it's got the same sort of spirit, so I decided not to make it another story. It's kind of short, and once again based on actual events.

Chugging Mints

'I dare you to chug these mints,' Roger challenged Mark, one hot summer day as they hung about the loft.

Mark glanced at the pack of breath mints his friend held. There were about thirty of them in a tiny tin can, very small and, oddly enough, shaped like trucks. 'Where did you get those?' he inquired.

'That guy at the auto shop down the street gave them to me.'

'Roger,' Mark signed. 'How many times have I told you not to accept candy from strangers?'

'Mints don't count as candy!' Roger countered.

'Do, too,' Mark replied.

'Do not,' Roger argued.

'Do, too!'

'Do not!'

'_Do, too!' _

'I dare you to chug them!' Roger repeated.

'Fine!' Mark responded, and reached for the tin can. Roger suddenly recoiled.

'No!' he said.

'What?'

'No. They're my mints!'

Mark sighed once more. 'But I was gonna chug them.'

'But they're mine. I don't want to waste them. I mean, they're shaped like trucks...'

'Fine,' Mark huffed. The two friends sat in silence for about twenty minutes. Then...

'Wait a minute,' Mark said. 'How do you chug mints?'

FIN!


End file.
